There’s this Pomeranian that lives in my building. His name is Jay, but for the longest time I called him Teddy Pom-Pom, after a dog in an It’s Me or the Dog episode.
Jay is adorable, but I think Jay might be a racist.
Like many little dogs, he thinks he’s bigger and less fluffy than he is, and often shows signs of aggression towards various people and animals. I got on the elevator today with Jay. He looked up at me but didn’t make a noise. Then another guy got on. Nothing from Jay. But then two Hispanic maintenance men came on and Jay completely lost it. He started barking up a storm. “Ooo you’re a big scary dog!” one of them said to Jay with a laugh. Jay did not think this was funny at all and continued to bark until the men got off. Then it was just me, the other dude, and Jay’s owner. Jay calmed himself.
I’ve heard of dogs being partial to men or women, but can dogs be partial to race? What was it about the maintenance men that rubbed Jay the wrong way? Was it because they were Hispanic, or was it something else–perhaps their smell or the tools they were carrying?
I will update as my field work continues.
My email signature consists of my name and this quote:
“When you have an opportunity to include a panda in something, a panda should be included.” -Seth Stevenson, Slate Magazine.
It was from an article about the Beijing Olympics and how one of the mascots was panda-like.
I received an email from my Grandma today that was full of little pictures of pandas. I thought she just got a little clip art happy until I saw the end:
Love, Grandma OX (Insert a panda whenever possible.)
That is just one of the many reasons my grandma is awesome.
Don’t you hate when someone starts a blog and then promptly abandons it? That’s not what I’m trying to do, but I don’t want to post unless I have something worth posting. Sometimes that’ll happen three times a day, sometimes it takes a little longer. So until next time, here is a picture of a pug in a tuxedo. Enjoy.
I stopped at an intersection today as I was driving around the city. There was a guy walking between the cars presumably selling something. When I first started driving in Chicago, I thought this was quite strange–guys standing on the yellow line, inches from cars speeding by, trying to get the stopped cars to buy a newspaper or donate money for a cause. I’m fairly familiar with the middle-of-the-road peddlers now, but what I saw today was something new. The guy wasn’t selling newspapers he was selling–get this–socks. Socks. He had all kinds–men’s, women’s, even girl’s pink socks with decorations on them. They were in packages of six or so, like you would get at a store, but without the Fruit of the Loom or Hane’s label on them. As far as I could tell, nobody was buying them. That’s a shame, because I’m sure he thought his business plan was fool-proof. I can see it now–“What can we sell that everyone needs? Nobody reads the news anymore, but everyone wears socks, right? And with the laundry room ‘sock monster’ mishaps, everyone always needs new socks. We’re gonna be golden!” Except he probably forgot the fact that most people aren’t willing to conduct a business transaction while stopped at red light.
I wish you luck, sock-selling man. I would have bought some, except I just bought new socks yesterday…and I’m weary of conducting business at a red light.
I think I should broaden the topic to Random Encounters I Have With People Everywhere. Because today one happened at the library.
I handed the young woman my library card as she scanned my books. “Can I ask you a question?” she asked. “You know a lot about designers and stuff, right?” Her question threw me. I was checking out a book about polygamy and some 80’s sheet music–nothing about designers. The way she asked it was as if I was standing there in a Chanel suit, Louboutins, and an LV bag in my hand. She started talking about a Prada bag she was thinking about buying, but couldn’t tell if it was authentic.
“Oh, she must have seen my Prada purse!” I thought, until I remembered that I wasn’t carrying my purse. I was using a tote bag that featured a Chihuahua in a hat with the phrase “Viva La Revolucion * Rescue * Spay & Neuter” on it. Not exactly designer material. I decided to play along. She asked if most designer bags have the name of the designer on the outside and on the inside. I told her most bags do, but it usually varies with the designer. Prada usually features the logo or name several times throughout the bag. I should have told her that if she has questions about the bag’s authenticity, it probably isn’t real. Or if it’s available for $50 on a street corner. I didn’t say any of that, but she seemed satisfied with my response. I still can’t figure out why she labeled me an expert on designer goods after taking one look at me (in my cheap Forever 21 jacket and Chihuahua tote). I guess I should never underestimate the power of my Armani sunglasses.
I’m thinking Random Encounters I Have With People On The Elevator may be a regular feature on this blog.
Today a guy in his late-20s or early-30s got on the elevator with me. He was holding a box shaped like a slice of pizza. As we were going up–just the two of us–he opens the box, shows me that it is in fact a slice of pizza, then takes a long deep sniff of it and shouts–in a voice above normal elevator volume–“PIZZA!” I gave a little smile, and then he got off the elevator.
It’s not as good as the old guy that wants to roll around in the grass naked, but it was still a bit bizarre.
I bought an electric keyboard for my apartment a few months ago. I love playing Yanni’s “To Take…To Hold,” or banging out Meat Loaf’s “For Crying Out Loud.” Any anger I may have, I take out on the keys with that song.
So I sat down to play today and realized a layer of dust had accumulated on the keys. So I got the Swifter duster and Endust spray I recently bought. I’ve never used dusting spray, but I felt like it couldn’t hurt.
I soon realized that “Leaving a natural shine” actually means leaving a slippery film. It might make a table look nice, but it was probably the worst thing I could put on keyboard keys. I positioned my hands to start “Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad,” and my fingers slipped right off. Great.
So now I need to find a way to clean off the cleaning spray.